Little Things
by xxxWordWeaver
Summary: Harry Potter never got what he wanted, that is until one very fateful night. No one ever gets what they want, that is until they realize, it's been right there all along. Prejudices, pride, neglect, despair and loneliness. This is Harry's journey if things had started earlier, with friends that go with him to the very end of the earth. No pairings. Friendship.


Title: Little Things

Summary: Harry Potter never got what he wanted, that is until one very fateful night. No one ever gets what they want, that is until they realize, it's been right there all along. Prejudices, pride, neglect, despair and loneliness. This is Harry's journey if things had started earlier, with friends that go with him to the very end of the earth. No pairings. Friendship.

A/N: This story has been on my mind for a long time, an I finally got the courage to write after a year of writing college essays. My narrative skills have dropped. A lot. But I wish to get this story out to people who relate to this setting, because I know what it feels like. I have other stories that are not even close to completing, but I will, one day. Eventually. But this fic will be my primary concern for now. Thanks for reading and hope you like it! Give me so feedbacks. Flames will be deleted. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: No, I did not write Harry Potter.

* * *

Under the scorching glare the afternoon sun, the day was as ordinary as any other summer heat waves in Little Whinging. Yet while every other sane person was taking shelter from the dry scalding mugginess, save a few desperate enough to grab a few bucks, the thunderous groans of a lawn mower grumbled along the front yard of Number 4 Privet Drive.

Harry Potter's skinny arms shook uncontrollable as he pushed the monstrous machine across the grass. His jet-black hair matted with sweat stuck to his scalp and he reached up a hand to swipe the wet bangs from his eyes. His calloused fingers, brunt from scrubbing and washing, brushed the lightning scar on his forehead.

After another slow hour had gone by, the six year old finally killed the engine. His back ached with a pain comparable to old men, considering he had been at it for four hours straight with no food and water under the searing heat. Harry took off his round rimmed glasses that was held together by duck-tape and wiped sweat off his eyes. Putting them back on, he turned towards the house and sure enough, he saw two beady eyes glaring at him unwaveringly.

On any other season besides summer, Petunia Dursley would not have allowed the boy to put so much as a finger out of the window, but since that day was the peak of the heat wave, and the neighborhood had threw themselves into the coolness of their homes, she decided that she could risk the boy being exposed as long as she got the dreaded yard mowed. Normally, Mr. Dursley would have done it, it was the only chore that he would willingly do, although he had boisterously described the job as _"taking care of a obedient cat that keeps you company at home, Petunia!"_ However, Vernon Dursley was picking their son, Dudley, from school. Mrs. Dursely, a _very_ patient woman indeed, could not stand another day with the crickets and grasshoppers buzzing about and disturbing her most needed rest, casted Harry out of the house and promised him no water until the job was done.

Just then, the sputtering engines of car drove down the length of Privet Drive and parked itself on the doorsteps of the house. The car stammered a few coughs and died down just as the door swung open and a large beefy body stumbled out.

Vernon Dursley's pudgy eyes stooped down on Harry, gave him a suspicious look, and then narrowed his eyes on the lawn and the mower. Mr. Dursley's face turned a nasty shade of red and he drew in a gulp of air. Harry flinched, squinted his eyes and mentally blocked his ears, knowing what came next.

"MOOOOOM!"

Dudley's voice penetrated the neighbourhood like a gunshot as he slammed the car door shut. Harry did not know whether he should thank the car or pity it. In a few blundering trots, Dudley flung open the door and waddled his large whale-like body into the house, screaming at his mother for some cold water.

Mr. Dudley snorted at the sudden distraction and then went back to glaring at Harry. Harry tried not to blink, but it was increasingly hard since small beads of sweat had dripped into his eyes again.

"Petunia!" Mr. Dursley bellowed. Harry jumped, startled at the volume.

Small pits and patters could be heard from the house and were getting louder as Mrs. Dursley made her way outside to the porch.

"What is it doing out here Petunia! What would you do if the neighbors see him?!" Mr. Dursley shouted at her. _Well, they would've seen me by now with all the noise you're making,_ Harry thought.

"Be rational, Vernon! It's the hottest day of the summer and there was no one outside! Even the Smauldings are indoors today, and you know they had barbecue for the past three weeks."

Mr. Dursley took a step forward, ready to retort, but then Harry caught his attention when he shifted to his left foot since it fell asleep when he was trying to keep as still as possible. Harry cowed under the stare of his uncle and gulped. He was sweating even more now. Mr. Dursley took a long look at his yard, then back at Harry. After a few tense moments, Mr. Dursley puffed air from his nostrils and sized Harry up.

"Fine," he spat. "But if you do this without my consent again, just you try boy, you won't be out until the summer if over. Is that clear?" Harry couldn't help but wonder why he was taking the blame when it was Aunt Petunia who made him do it. But Harry kept his mouth shut and nodded timidly. _Don't ask questions_, he remembered.

"Is that clear!" Mr. Dursley shouted at his face, spit flying from his mouth and raining down on Harry's face.

"Yes, sir"

Satisfied, and looking unpleasantly pleased with himself, Mr. Dursley harrumphed and marched into the house with his bulging suitcase in tow, squeezing his huge body through the entrance hallway and into the kitchen. Mrs. Dursley shot daggers at Harry one last time and tottered in as well with her chin high, but Harry had always thought it made her look even more embarrassed of the situation.

Harry let out a breath he did not know he was holding and his body slouched in relief. Living with the Dursley was like walking through a minefield; you never know when they would go off. Gathering himself up, Harry stretched his aching muscles and walked as slowly as he could back into the house.

When Harry had finally and reluctantly graced his presence in the kitchen, he met a rather odd sight. Sitting on a groaning wooden chair that looked as if it could give any minute was his uncle, who was hunched over several papers scattered on the table. Meanwhile, Dudley was sitting across his father, trying his best not to look interest but failing. Dudley's posture was facing away from the table, his fleshy bottom was leaking from the chair, but his eyes squinted sideways strenuously, trying to peek at his father's paperwork.

"Petunia, be a dear and run me a candle would you?" Mr. Dursley asked, his large nose almost touching the papers.

"What candle, Dad?" Dudley asked stupidly.

"It's for a seal, Dudley. You will have it one day when it's your turn to take over the Grunings. People these days foolishly use their penmanship as their seal, but I say no! Anyone can copy those loopy strokes, but you can't copy a seal, can't ya'? Mr. Dursley laughed creepily at his own insults. Mrs. Dursley brought the lighted candle to the table.

"But what it the seal is stolen?" said Harry. _Oh, now I've done it._ Thought Harry despairingly.

...

It was as if air seized to exist as the whole room tensed up, muscles wounded, ready to pounce. The silence was so loud you could hear a needle dropping onto the floor, or was that the chair that fell? Mr. Dursley stood in front of Harry, so fast that Harry thought he teleported there since he could not have moved at that speed given his weight. His face swelled like a plump and the red veins quickly turned to a choking purple, fit to burst.

"HOW DARE YOU QUESTION ME, BOY! WE TOOK YOU IN AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY US? BY ASKING US QUESTION! WE GAVE YOU A ROOF WHEN YOUR USELESS PARENTS ABANDONED YOU! HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I SAID, THAT UNDER THIS ROOF, DO. NOT. ASK. QUESTIONS!"

Mr. Dursley's chest heaved and his porky cheeks huffed as he tried to cool himself down from the rant.

Harry could hardly believe the unfairness of it all. Was it so wrong that he commented, let alone asked, a logical reasoning? Harry clenched his teeth and swallowed his pride. He had known a long time ago not to go against Mr. Dursley, especially when he was already at his limit. Any further, Harry would find himself locked up for the entire year.

"Alright, fine." Harry sighed. "Fine. I'm sorry I asked, I won't do it again."

"You sure won't! Because if you do, you can say goodbye to this house!" With a final hiss, Mr. Dursley sat back down in the chair Mrs. Dursley picked up, still seething at Harry.

"How bout a nice cup of cold water, Vernon? To cool you down," Mrs. Durley persistently pressed a glass of ice water into Mr. Dursley's trembling hands. Still annoyed and incredibly frustrated with the situation, he snatched the glass away from Mrs. Dursley's bony fingers, downed the water in one go and slammed it on the table with enough force to break it.

Seeing the glass of water made Harry very aware of how parched his mouth was. He had not had anything to drink since this afternoon, and that was five hours ago. Besides, Aunt Petunia said he could drink once his chores were done.

Squashing down his fears, he managed to say, "A-Aunt Petunia? May I have a glass of water, please?" Harry tried to be as polite as possible. He did not want to give the Dursleys another reason to smother him.

Aunt Petunia snapped her head so fast one would have thought a rubber band gave out inside of her. She narrowed her eyes before sneering at him. Harry kept his mouth shut but did not break eye contact. She continued to stare at him irritably for a few seconds before painstakingly moved to the sink, as if the action was against her every will. Suddenly, her eyes widened and a small smirk appeared on her face. Mrs. Dursley filled the glass and went straight to the table.

"Duddykins, drink some water Mummy got for you, it's a very hot day," said Aunt Petunia, cooing at the whale of a son.

Harry felt his heart drop a little but he didn't show it. He tried again.

"Aunt Petunia, may I have glass of water please? You said I could after-"

"Oh," Aunt Petunia quirked at eyebrow at his direction, looking unconcerned as she picked her nails. "I did, did I? Surely not. Why would I say such a thing?"

Her vile expression made Harry's stomach churned as his anger rose to a dangerous level. Unaware of his anger, Mr. Dursley, who had been carefully dripping a small amount of wax onto his paper, yelped as the fire on the candle grew and grew. His shout everyone got everyone's attention.

Harry could only stare as the flame grew as large as a spoon and his anger disappeared snuffed, and surprisingly, so did the fire.

The Dursleys stood stark still, afraid as if the candle would suddenly light itself up again. Dudley who was shacking in his mother's hold spoke out. "W-what was t-that?"

No one answered him. No one could.

But deep down, Harry knew it was him. It was always him. When strange things happened, it was Harry Potter's fault. Harry could not explain why, but the Dursleys had always blamed unnatural, abnormal, odd and freakish things that happen to him, as did the rest of the school.

...

"Go to your room. Go. Just, go." Mr. Dursley managed to choke out.

Harry ran for it. He sprung from the dreaded kitchen and headed for the cupboard under the stairs, because that was where he slept. If he had turned back, he would have seen Mr. Dursley throwing away the candle in disgust and Dudley's curious eyes.

* * *

That night Harry did not eat nor drink. All he got was a four biscuits shoved through the railing in his dark cupboard. As he lay on his ragged, scratchy bed, Harry thought to himself, what had he done wrong to deserve this?

He had spent years fanaticizing that one day a relative would come and pick him up, or there were times he had dreamed of two loving voices as he slept in soft warm arms. But no one ever came for him. The Dursleys were the only family he had left. Harry closed his eyes and thought of all the bizarre things and series of unfortunate events that had happened to him that day. It was not like it did not occur every other day, but today was excessively so.

_"You sure won't! Because if you do, you can say goodbye to this house!"_

Mr. Dursley's words echoed through his head and Harry shuddered. _Would it have been better if I left this house?_ Harry thought. Shacking away his wandering temptations, Harry shifted and tried to make himself as warm as possible from the cold summer nights. Before he sunk into the embrace of sleep, he could have sworn he heard a creak from the stairs. Letting himself sink to darkness, Harry silently hope the night would bring him a dreamless sleep. But fate had other plans.

* * *

_"You sure won't! Because if you do, you can say goodbye to this house!"_

_"If that's the case, I will!" Harry roared back, anger reaching its peak. He had had enough._

_The fire on the candle rose up to the ceiling and filled the room ablaze. The kitchen burned an angry red and the heat punched Harry in the face with such a force that he could not breath._

_There was fire everyone._

_Screams._

_Sirens._

_The Dursleys._

_Aunt Petunia._

_Uncle Vernon._

_Dudley._

_The smoke._

_There was too much smoke! He could not breath. He was chocking._

_No air._

_Screams, shouts, sirens, voices._

**_He could not breath. Could not breath!_**

**_Breath, damn it._**

**_Breath, breath!_**

"**BREATH!"**

Harry's eyes snapped open and he coughed unstoppably. Oh god, his lungs were on fire. The coughing shook Harry's little body so hard that he could not draw in oxygen.

"Breath, just breath."

A soothing voice, male; it was so warm that it made Harry calm down a little. Feeling like his throat was just torn apart, Harry greedily grabbed some air into his lungs a little too fast because he started coughing again.

"Hey there, kid. Not so fast. You're alright. Just take your time. You're alright." There it was again. That soothing voice. Uncle Vernon? A small voice in Harry's head denied that immediately. Uncle Vernon would never say such a thing.

Harry slowly opened his eyes and was greeted with a man with kind, blue eyes. He had a worried, yet relieved look on his face. But what caught his attention the most was what he wore. It was an orange jump suit, decorated with neon yellow strips here and there, and the man was headed with a matching orange helmet.

A Firefighter.

With a start, Harry realized he was lying on the man's lap. He shot up and immediately regretted it. A wave of dizziness rushed over him and he resumed his coughing fit.

"Woah! Careful kid! I did not get you out of that fire to let you die on me!" The man exclaimed.

Harry's mind was running a thousand miles per hour._ Get me out of the fire?_

His head shot up so fast he almost got whiplash and looked around.

There before his eyes, Number Four Privet Drive was in flames.

The house was slowly coming apart even with the help of water to dose the fire. Dancing about the roof, it stretched all the way to the dark sky and saturated it with a brilliant gradient of red and orange. And anguish.

"A-Aunt," Harry rasped out, throat still very raw. "U-ncle, 'ousin?"

The man lowered his eyes and shook his head. "Only your cousin survived."

Harry Potter felt his world go up in the flames. Even though they had mistreated him; even if he had hated it, they were still family. His _only_ family.

And now, he was truly alone.

* * *

In another part of England, Wiltshire, a large manor stood isolated from the world around them. The sky was grey and so was the manor. An unearthly gloom nestled the mansion like a snake choking its prey, estrange in its grasp. Trees, eternally rested in the hands of death, shook every now and then, like a shiver of an impending doom. Inside the manor, the pristine walls covered with moving portraits emitted a nauseating welcome to guests and dwellers alike.

In the middle of the large winding stairs that met the black marble floor stood a blond boy with silver eyes. Hands clasped together and knees bent, the young aristocrat hid his face into his knees as voices started to shake the manor's core.

After an hour the voices died down and creatures that resembled dwarfs and elves announced dinner. Dinner was a luxurious and quiet affair. No one spoke, just the clattering of silverware against the plates. Once the food was in order, desserts came.

The blond boy fidgeted in his seat as he dared to speak. "Father, are we going to-"

The older blonde, whose long hair was combed sleek to his middle back, silenced the young boy with cold eyes. The younger blonde clamped his mouth shut and looked down.

Everything resumed as it was.

Suddenly, the only female at the table stood abruptly and walked stiffly up the stairs with a swish of her long raven locks. The man let her go, but followed after her some time later, leaving the young boy to himself on the long dining table.

He just sat there, staring at his hands as stubborn tears pooled into his eyes.

And thus it was so, at the Malfoy Manor.


End file.
